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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806207">live on as if you still love me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyanarchy/pseuds/nyanarchy'>nyanarchy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Trans Floris | Fundy, Trans Male Character, fundy and niki could be read as romantic but i wrote it as platonic, this is absolutely me projecting on to fundy, title from even if its a lie by matt maltese</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:08:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyanarchy/pseuds/nyanarchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to tumble over. Fundy wants to trip on the nearest rock and scrape his knee and let it bleed, just so everyone would forget that Wilbur said anything. He wants them to bandage him up, perch him up on a counter and ask, “What did you say your name was again?” Just so he can tell them “Fundy,” and have another chance. </p><p>But Fundy keeps his composure. The first daughter doesn’t trip, and she doesn’t wish for anything more than what she’s given. </p><p> </p><p>or: fundy has a panic attack and ends up reliving some unsavory memories, but he doesn't have to do it alone</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Floris | Fundy &amp; Niki | Nihachu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>live on as if you still love me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>niki and fundy's friendship is something that can actually be so personal-</p><p>i am trans and im literally just projecting my entire childhood onto fundy and i am not sorry</p><p>shoot me an ask on tumblr (@nyanarchy) or dm me on twitter (@ranbooiri) if you've got any questions or requests</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fundy’s own gasping breaths are the only thing that he can hear; there’s cotton in his ears and chest, snuffing out every sensation except for the cold floor under him, and it doesn’t take long before that seems to slip away as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s trying so hard to stop the tears, hands clamped over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut, but there’s no force strong enough to halt it. Years worth of pulling back, years worth of this non-descript, achey feeling in his body spills out at once – it feels like his entire being is pouring out of his mouth, and the only thing he can do is wait until all that was inside of him is on his lap. Fundy’s hands fall from his face, and a shout tumbles out of his chest as he brings his fists down upon the wooden floor. His brain is leaking out of his ears and he doesn’t know how to make himself stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is my daughter, Farah.” His father’s smile is proud, stretching across his face as he shows his child what feels like the world, a silent promise of what could be his. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wants to tumble over. Fundy wants to trip on the nearest rock and scrape his knee and let it bleed, just so everyone would forget that Wilbur said anything. He wants them to bandage him up, perch him up on a counter and ask, “What did you say your name was again?” Just so he can tell them “Fundy,” and have another chance. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But Fundy keeps his composure. The first daughter doesn’t trip, and she doesn’t wish for anything more than what she’s given. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy furiously dabs at his eyes with the sleeves of his coat, feeling quite like a man trying to dry the ocean with a towel; feeling like a wife who’s still waiting for her dead husband to return home from war. Feeling like someone who’s clinging on to a delusion that isn’t as entertaining as it used to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The door shuts behind him and Fundy makes his way down the cobblestone path, counting exactly twenty-two paces before he can stop. With a grin, he crouches down and slides his bag off his shoulder, and it only takes a couple seconds of digging to find what he wants. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To anyone else, it’s a ball of black fabric he stole from his father’s closet; but to Fundy, it’s his lifeline. Stuffing his red hair into the beanie, he stands back up and continues on his path to nowhere in particular. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On his way, he trips and scrapes his knee. He lets it bleed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a brief moment where Fundy stares up at his ceiling, and the tears stop. He takes in one gulping breath of air, his lungs crying out in thanks as he finally breaks out of the sob-gasp-repeat cycle he’d had going for a while now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks down at his hands and physically cringes at the sight: blood had smeared across them, some of it brown like bruises on his skin, some fresh and cherry red. Fundy realizes with a start that he’d been bleeding ever since he slammed his hands against the wooden floor. His panic subsides and the numbness melts away from his body, and he can practically hear his hand screaming for a bandage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shakily rising to his feet, Fundy begins his hunt for some sort of aid, quickly realizing all of his medical supplies had ran out. He groans, pulling on his coat and his boots and begins his journey into town, cradling his hand to his chest and allowing his shirt to soak up the blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” A soft, feminine voice calls to him halfway into town, “are you alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The accent is hard to place, and Fundy pauses for a moment to stare at the pink haired woman stood in front of him. She’s shorter than him (most people are – he got his father’s height, after all) and bares a caring look, achingly similar to what he remembers of his mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“German,” He mumbles under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’d said, “I- um, your accent – it- it’s German, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles, a white row of teeth peaking through her lips, “Yes, I’m from Germany.” The woman informs him with a laugh, “But I was asking if you were okay.” She gestures to Fundy’s still bleeding hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks down, as if he had completely forgotten about his open wound. “O-oh, that? I’m fine, just, y’know, very clumsy,” heat rises to Fundy’s cheeks, “I ran out of bandages, so I’m just running into town to grab some.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” The woman beckons, pulling a roll of bandages from her purse. Fundy lets out a startled yelp as she grabs his injured hand, bringing it towards her. She frowns, “You’ve really done a number on yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He offers her an awkward laugh, “Yeah, it’s a common occurrence.” It really isn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Niki, by the way,” she tells the man absentmindedly as she begins to wrap his hand in her bandages. “What did you say your name was again?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His father would have moments where he couldn't help but grin. A big, bright smile would spread across his face, and Fundy was almost sure he never realized when he was doing it - maybe that's what made it all the more special, he supposes. The type of happiness that you don't even realize is happening, it seeps into you and warms you up from the inside out; he'd seen it when he father gazed over L'Manberg, he saw it when he learned how to tie his shoes, when he learned how to ride a bike, on his thirteenth birthday, and a million other times that begun to blend together. He always wondered when he would grow to be as big and proud as his father, when he would feel such unadulterated joy that he couldn't do much else but let himself smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Fundy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks he understands it now. </span>
</p>
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